Pearseus: Schism

January 1, 2100 AD (1 After Landing), Pearseus: Lucas

Lucas never thought of himself as particularly lucky. He had never won anything, unlike his sister, who used to win everything she wanted. Lucas wished she could see him now, though. He had barely escaped a fiery death in the engineering room, catapulting into the escape pod seconds before it ejected. He had even survived the descent onto the planet without a scratch, whereas most other survivors suffered all kinds of injuries, from concussions to broken bones. That would show her, he thought with a childish sneer, then wondered if he would ever see her again, and a pang of sadness shot through his heart.

He glanced around him to get his bearings, scratching his head. They had landed in a valley on the dark side of the planet. It was a chilly night, with a clear sky and unfamiliar stars. Strange flowery smells filled the air, exotic, yet pleasant. He saw the reflection of two moons in a small pool of water and remembered an old saying. ‘One moon shows in every pool; in every pool, the one moon.’ Well, not in this one… His shoulders sank as the realisation of how far away they were from home hit him. Hearing a faint whistle above, he looked up. Debris from their ship entered the atmosphere, lighting up the unfamiliar sky like eerie fireworks. The stunning effect only made him wonder how they could ever go back.

Not knowing when the sun would rise, he decided to use the lights from the pods and small fires lit by the survivors to work. People gathered around their respective pods like lost tribes around ancestral fires. He helped his people – strange how he now thought of the people in his pod as “his” – get as comfortable as possible, and wondered if there might be something he could do for the rest. The pods would provide them with energy and shelter for years, but the survivors needed to start searching for resources as soon as possible, perhaps even that very morning. They had limited supplies of food and drink, medicine and various portable scanners, as well as a small cache of weapons – although he had not seen anything dangerous yet. These, however, would dwindle fast.

A quick glance told him most pods had made it to the surface, even if some looked half-empty. He wondered how many of the people on board had survived, then his breath caught at the sight of a blinking red light in the distance. Squinting his eyes, he spotted a red cross on its side, illuminated by the crimson glare, and his lips curled upwards. He started towards it, his heart filling with hope. A med-bay would be equipped with all the essentials needed to ensure medical care for the survivors. Pearseus had maybe a dozen of those, but he had no idea how many had survived the explosion.

His steps faltered at the sound of a soft sob. Changing direction, he followed it to a young woman sprawled on the ground, her back against the pod, hands pressed against her face. He leaned down to gently take her hands into his. She plaintively repeated a man’s name again and again between sobs, perhaps a friend or relative.

 “What’s your name, love?” he asked in as soothing and calm a voice as he could manage.

“Katie,” she replied with a choked voice.

He caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath and remembered it was still New Year’s Eve. He glanced at his watch; it showed a few minutes past midnight. Not New Year’s Eve, not anymore. It’s the New Year. First day, first year of a new century, first people on a new planet. So where’s the bubbly? He felt like laughing, then something within stirred and he started singing to the woman, softly at first, then louder.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind ?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne ?

He heard a man’s voice join his, slightly off-key, then a broken woman’s voice, followed by a clear soprano one. The woman snuggled in his arms and joined the singing between sobs. Soon the song spread all around, warming them like the soothing glow of the fire that danced on their faces.

For auld lang syne, my jo,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

The woman had stopped crying. She now stared with unseeing eyes into the consoling fire. She had not moved, so he kept his arms around her and they sat together for the longest time, until she finally fell asleep. He laid her down as softly as he could and covered her with his jacket. Much as he would have liked to stay there, he could make out smoke coming from a nearby pod and wanted to check it out. He stood up to stretch his arms and legs before walking towards it.

Captain Kibwe lay unconscious next to the fire, face brown with caked blood, and soiled bandages covering the top of his head. A fetching young nurse had placed his arm in a splint and hovered over him like a worried mother hen.

Lucas exchanged a smile with her, then noticed First Mate Croix spread on the ground. He seemed unconscious as well, but when Lucas approached he heard him mumble and saw that the man had no discernible wounds. Sleeping. Well, good for him. He left him alone, picked up with weary hands a toolbox and dragged it around the damaged pod. A movement not too far away caught his eye and he spun around.

His toolbox crashed on the ground, tools scattering everywhere. He blinked at the sight of the biggest, fiercest man he had ever laid his eyes upon. Around him people gasped in alarm, noticing the newcomer approach in slow, uncertain steps. No-one else moved. Lucas’ breath caught as he took a fearful step towards the man. When he looked into his eyes, he saw ferocity and strength, but also compassion and wisdom. The two men stood facing each other for a moment, then the stranger spoke a single word with an unexpected melodic softness.

Lucas’ eyes popped open. At first he felt sure he had misheard, but the monstrous man repeated it, with the same pleasant accent: “Welcome.”

Before he could reply, a loud bang sounded behind him.